


Tap Out

by AngelOfDeath10



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Romance, F/M, Mutual Pining, No Beta, hints of romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelOfDeath10/pseuds/AngelOfDeath10
Summary: What was supposed to be a professional collaboration between a fashion giant and the golden girl of the fighting world gets complicated when personalities that should have clashed instead fall in step.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Rufus Shinra
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	Tap Out

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Remake, where they changed Rufus' age up 5 more years, I now have to say up front that in my mind he and Tifa will never be 10 years apart in age. You can assume close to same age here. This ficlet was inspired by his jacket redesign for Remake.
> 
> Disclaimer: Squeenix has all the rights, yup.

Rufus was rolling his head slowly from side to side in an attempt to loosen up his perennially tight shoulders when Ms. Lockhart burst into his office in a flurry of improbably long brown hair, an orange bikini that appeared to be barely holding its shape given all the pins straining against her distinctive silhouette, and unmistakable anger. Outwardly impassive, he felt his heart gallop anyway as she marched on bare feet towards him, a finger outstretched and no doubt about to make contact with his solar plexus. Every part of her was legitimately a weapon, particularly those hands.

"I didn't say a thing when you plastered me like a goddam pinup over half the world, Shinra, but I'll be damned if you pimp me out in this! If I wanted to show off this much of my body, I would have done that supposedly tasteful nude photoshoot that my EX-agent told me was a _must_." Rude and Elena had finally caught up and were shifting from foot to foot right outside his door. Elena still had a pin cushion in one hand while Rude had a swatch of orange fabric in another.

She smelled like vanilla. Comforting, enticing, sweet, but with rich notes that were harder to pinpoint but would linger in his mind long after she left the room. This close, the smell assaulted him as surely as her finger.

"Ms. Lockhart, need I remind you that you wear a bikini in your vaunted octagon."

"That's different!" She snapped. "That is structured to support and suppress and as you can see, nothing is being… suppressed in this ridiculous—" Professionally, she almost always had her body on display when she fought, but it seemed that in private she was a bit more conservative because she crossed her arms over her chest in several configurations before she looked back down at Rufus in his chair with high color staining her cheeks. "My ring outfits aren't this skimpy."

"Sir, I'm so sorry… please Ms. Lockhart maybe we can alter the design a bit." Elena was trying to salvage the situation from across the room while Rude continued to hold the scraps of orange fabric in front of him apologetically as if they held answers to Tifa's anger. "This particular design perhaps wasn't built with consideration to how weight in the upper body shifts when pressure—"

"My breasts are practically falling out the sides, you mean! Yes, I quite thought that was the feature of it rather than a flaw based on how that pervy red haired bastard in the background started laughing."

Of course, Reno would have snuck into the fitting instead of working on his new streetwear line. He had made no secret last morning meeting of the fact that he found their newest celebrity spokesmodel something of an inspiration. Rufus had strictly ordered him to stay on his floor or suffer the consequences. Perhaps serving as a living dressmaker dummy for the interns as they sewed and pinned together his designs for the next month would give him pause.

"Ms. Lockhart, I assure you my associates want this collaboration to work. And the contract you signed yourself was in good faith, I trust? You said yourself, if I recall, that a promise is a promise." Rufus' words were smooth as he slowly stood from his chair and approached the still vibrating fighter. Standing like this, he had the height and reach advantage on her that she had once commented on as they shook hands. Not even a handful of inches, but forcing her to look up at him made Rufus feel more in control.

And his whole world was about control.

Tifa mumbled something in response to his question, and Rufus knew he had already cornered her into a spot where her pride had to battle her integrity for dominance. "I didn't promise to bear my chest to the world, though." Her arms were still trying to hide whatever shame she was feeling.

"Ms. Lockhart, professionally speaking, if you would drop your arms and take a neutral position I would better be able to evaluate where the design has gone awry." He spoke to her as if she were a wild animal he needed to calm, and his refusal to meet her anger with any emotion at all seemed to win her over. Even though dark suspicion still clouded her face she did indeed follow his request.

Orange wasn't really her color, he noted immediately. Slowly coming down from her frustration as she was, it highlighted red tones in her skin and made it seem mottled and uneven despite the fact that she was uncommonly fair. Tifa's rather generous bust was in fact spilling out of the sides of the top given the way it had been cut, but additional paneling with some stretch could remedy most of the problem.

"Elena," Rufus beckoned the designer in and she was quickly at his side with a few strides of her sensible shoes. Having been recently promoted from men's activewear designs to creating a women's line for Shinra, Elena knew Tifa was the linchpin of their marketing and was just as invested in this offshoot as Rufus himself. He had sunk quite a bit of money into something his father never would have considered. "While Ms. Lockhart makes any design look superior, perhaps you can offer some other choices for next week's photoshoot?"

Crisis seemingly averted as Elena was finally given enough time to assuage Tifa's worries, Rufus watched as the fighter turned back into the affable woman he remembered from the boardroom discussions of their collaboration and less of the furious bantamweight champion. As Tifa became more relaxed, she became less conscious of her body and laughed openly as Elena remarked on wanting to emphasize her legs in the next shoot since her much publicized knockout with a high kick was still one her most iconic photos. That laugh initiated thoughts in the back of Rufus' mind that he had to firmly clamp down before he was forced to sit down.

He cleared his throat discreetly.

"President, excuse the intrusion. Ms. Lockhart if you would please follow me back to the fitting room…"

Tifa looked a little bashful now that she'd calmed down, but continued to cross her arms in uncomfortable ways now that she was eyeing the doorway. She had marched past a conference room, a row of offices, and at least one receptionist to burst into his corner office and Tifa seemed to finally realize she would have to make that journey in reverse in mere square inches of coverage. Sighing, Rufus allowed a rogue chivalric impulse to spur him into action.

When she made her walk back to the elevator in bare feet and his distinctive white coat he'd probably have to field speculation. Even flanked by Elena and Rude, the rumor mill wouldn't be able to help but churn. The tension in his shoulders ramped up, even as his heart clenched at Tifa's sincere smile and thanks at the gesture.

*  
*  
*

Tseng dropped off the proofs at Rufus' request before whatever was chosen from Tifa's shoot was plastered onto a billboard. He trusted his people. They would make the most acceptable choice and it was even possible Tifa and her agent had input as well, but on a whim he had asked Tseng if he would provide some copies. Normally Tseng would be busy getting the new formal line finished for the next season's catwalk, and therefore not anywhere near Elena's floor, but he agreed to this slight act of subterfuge. Rufus couldn't remember a time Tseng had told him no, even when Rufus was a ceremonial vice-president under the domineering senior Shinra.

"There's notes next to the shots that were ultimately chosen. It appears to be on brand for the Shinra product." Strength. Confidence. Charisma. These were always the watchwords of the brand, which is why Rufus had known when Elena had offhandedly mentioned Tifa Lockhart as one of the top choices for their spokemodel in the initial brainstorming sessions that Rufus agreed. Reno had been suspiciously fast pulling up footage on the computer monitor that had dominated the wall as they all impassively witnessed her last fight's highlights. Even when Tifa threw a punch she had a distinctive grace, and if Rufus had never watched her fight before that moment he understood why her fanbase was so diverse.

Beautiful face, voluptuous body, approachable personality, and a flashy fighting style. The one energy drink she had been talked into sponsoring last year had seen a high enough jump in sales and exposure that even Rufus had to admit he knew her face from the campaign even if he hadn't been aware of her celebrity in the fighting world. Obliquely, he was aware that many people enjoyed seeing Tifa beat the living daylights out of challengers to her belt but the real thrill for him had come when she walked into the boardroom with a black eye and a wide smile to shake his hand without hesitation or pretense.

When she had said she was glad to meet him, he had actually believed her. Maybe he just wanted to believe her. That had also occurred to him.

The pictures were standard fare, as clearly Tifa was not a model and her grasp of angles and expression for the camera were rudimentary. These shots wouldn't win any awards, but her fans would doubtless connect with them and perhaps it would provide enough exposure to start selling some clothing. Shuffling through, it was the last two pictures that suddenly blew his pupils wide and made him grateful for Tseng's quick exit. There would have been no hiding this feeling from the man who had known his every expression since he was a kid.

Royal blue had been a better choice for the swimwear shots, but you couldn't see a scrap of it anywhere as Tifa buried herself in a familiar white coat, one long bare leg extended out of it as if she wore nothing underneath. She was looking to the side and responding to someone so her lips were parted even as she was running her fingers over the lapel. This had been taken on the set but after the shoot—a candid moment to finish the film. If he stole it away someone would notice, and even if they didn't he'd be too aware of the picture waiting to undo him as soon as he let down his guard. Evidence of this _problem_ of his involving Tifa Lockhart was not in his best interest.

So, when his hands moved on their own and his snapped a picture on his phone, he wondered why after all these years he was throwing caution to the wind. This was leverage against him, sitting in cloud storage.

Sighing and leaning back in his chair one thing was clear—he needed to get his coat back.

*  
*  
*

"Yuf, I swear for the last time I don't want to go downtown and…" Tifa lost her train of thought as she pulled open the front door of her modest suburban split level with more than a little force and saw not her up and coming flyweight friend but instead the impeccably dressed visage of Rufus Shinra, CEO. He looked out of place in her doorway, standing on her 'bless this mess' doormat in his own company's tailored black shirt, pants, and tie. He looked every inch the modern aristocrat he was.

Tifa was glad sweat was already pouring down from the cardio workout she had halted to come answer the door because it would explain away the full body flush of embarrassment that yet again he was catching her at a bad moment. She didn't feel like she ever had a good moment around him, truth be told. Meanwhile he seemed to step out of a storybook or something. If anyone looked like an actual honest to god ice prince, it was this man, and Tifa couldn't get over the desire to take a step closer to see if she could make him melt around the edges. It was a childish thought, and she should be thinking more professionally. Despite his bloodless reputation, every time she spoke to him it felt like he was actually listening to her words instead of waiting for his turn to speak while staring at her tits.

"Can I, uh, can I help you?" Tifa hazarded when it seemed like he would be perfectly happy to stand there like a handsome statue. "I mean, would you like to come in…?"

"Thank you." He replied as if she had finally said magic words to initiate a response from his circuitry, and he entered with nary a backwards glance at the car and driver that were parked in front of Tifa's lawn. That car was definitely worth more than her house she'd bet.

Her living room was mostly bare, just a coffee table, a couch, and a recliner in front of a large TV that she sometimes watched fight replays on. It had been a gift from Barrett Wallace—retired boxer and close friend—when she had won her first televised match. That was back when people would comment on her heart and gumption instead of criticizing her ground game and waiting to see who would be able to unseat her from the top of the heap.

Unwilling to sit down sweaty on her own furniture, she was forced to stand in her leggings and cropped sports top and being the gentleman he was Rufus also remained standing. "Would you like some water? I'd offer you an energy drink—I have whole cases left from the promotion I did—but it really kind of tastes like drinking battery acid. Don't tell anyone I said that." She gave a conspiratorial smile, and Rufus' lips twinged up to acknowledge her joke. Tifa felt like an idiot, the joke wasn't funny so why did she try to make it to him? Was this her stupid attempt to relate to him? Dummy, what could they have in common?

"I'm only here because apparently your agent informed my people that you would like to purchase my coat. When I declined, your agent again asked if we would reconsider. When I declined again, we heard nothing for the past week. So, I feel compelled to ask, Ms. Lockhart, for what reason do you feel such sentimentality about this particular coat?"

Crossing her arms defensively, Tifa tried to scan her brain for any acceptable answer. It was too big for her, it wasn't really her style, it wasn't even a color she particularly liked, but every time she had been wrapped in it there had been a sense of safety that she hadn't felt since she was a kid. She wanted to climb into pajamas and wrap herself in it before she slept and other equally unreasonable imagined scenarios. Tifa had settled for running her fingers down its complex construction in the evening, hung up as it was in her closet in the master bedroom upstairs.

"I just really like it. A lot. Shinra designs are expensive, but I have money saved from various things and I figured maybe you wouldn't mind cutting me a little deal since I'm repping your brand."

Rufus' head tilted, and some of his fine blond hair fell across his eyes. "You were offered several pieces of the collection Elena designed, to be tailored to you, and yet you declined."

"They were beautiful, really, but considering how much they cost I couldn't very well sweat in them like I would in, well, this." She shivered as her body temperature was plummeting now that her sweat was drying off. Having invited the look, Rufus' gaze coolly scanned her outfit. Subconsciously, she found herself standing up a little straighter to try to look him in the eye like she was at a weigh in. "And if I wasn't going to use it, you might as well make a buck off some debutante, right?"

Maybe it was the black shirt and tie creating an illusion, but Tifa always got the impression Rufus was delicate at a distance and now that they were mere feet apart in her living room she realized he was broader at the shoulder than she was. Along with being a few inches taller, he probably had at least twenty-five pounds on her as well. With a bit of instruction he looked like he'd take to jiujitsu or other strategic ground offensive styles.

"Ms. Lockhart, I hope you don't think I came here to fight you for my own coat."

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I just, you know sometimes you spend so much time thinking about something that it takes your brain in that direction if you don't catch yourself. I can't help it, sometimes I walk into a room and I'm already judging the outcome of a fight between me and everyone else there." Mortified, she realized she had in fact gotten much closer to Rufus as if it were a photo op before a match. How uncomfortable she must have made him! If bad mid-century architecture could swallow her up right now she might wish it so, but the floor wasn't obliging so she'd have to trudge upstairs and go get the purloined coat. "Let me go get your coat."

It was a matter of moments as she scrambled upstairs and nearly tripped on her own feet on the way back down again as she carefully held the coat far enough away so that she wouldn't get any sweat on it. She hadn't had it dry cleaned yet, partially because there was no directions for care on it and she had no idea what to tell someone in order not to ruin it. Rufus accepted the coat and immediately put it on once she handed it over. It was like a missing piece had slotted into place and Tifa understood why he wouldn't want to part with it given that it was literally perfect for him.

"You designed it, didn't you?" The words tumbled out casually, but his brief look of shock told her she had struck home with an unexpected comment. "It really suits you. Sorry you had to come all this way to get it back."

"I assure you, Ms. Lockhart, it was much more enlightening than you would suspect."

Tifa watched Rufus leave far longer than she should have as the structured belt details below the waist of his coat fluttered in the wind. She would miss the weight of it, and the faint smell of cologne around the neckline. But as Yuffie had said when Tifa was whining about it last night over the phone, she should buy a weighted blanket and spray it with some perfume or something. As always her friend's approach to things was both supremely practical and absolutely unacceptable.

The weird twinge of regret in her heart also implied that what she was missing was the person associated with the coat more so than the coat itself, but it was a horrifying thought all around and couldn't be allowed to take root. She really couldn't set her sights on someone who was a literal celebrity. Her star was bright now, but Tifa knew too well her fifteen minutes were ticking. She should be happy that she got to see Rufus so close up as many times as she had. How did a man have skin that nice? No pores or anything.

The rogue shiver that ran up Tifa's back reminded her she had a workout to finish. Those miles weren't going to run themselves. Steeling herself, she popped air pods back in her ears and looked forward to the beat that would pace her as she finally closed her front door.

*  
*  
*

He had been there, in the expensive rows up front that were usually only for the bloodthirsty rich or die-hard industry people. Tifa would have known him anywhere because who else would have the sheer freaking nerve to wear white to an arena like this? That red haired jerk had been next to him, nearly vibrating with excitement. When she was walking out to Bikini Kill she was on top of the world, and as her bloody face was being ground into the mat by her opponent who had gotten a lucky couple of head shots and made it clear that Tifa was probably going to be on a concussion watch once the match was called regardless of the outcome, well, she was feeling low then but somehow Rufus being there eased some of the ache.

Her team helped haul her limp form from the octogon once it was announced she had lost in points after they had gone to the ground, but it hadn't been a title fight so she tried not to worry too much about what this meant for her sponsorships. She was gassed, in pain, but as their eyes met once more as she was being led back for the checkup and interviews—Tifa knew Rufus had been here to see her. She clutched the thought to her like a lifeline.

One stitch later, Tifa was gingerly climbing into a Shinra brand asymmetrical top that her manager insisted she needed to be wearing win or lose for post-fight interviews when at the bottom of the pile of clothes she saw a fat parcel. Holding her breath, knowing she had minutes before the world descended on her to throw their opinions about her fight in her face, she unwrapped what turned out to be a short, flared maroon trench coat. From the familiar feel of the material Tifa knew who it had come from, and she didn't need to put it on to also know it would fit her like a glove—bust and all.

Reaching into the pocket, she pulled out a scrap of paper on which was scrawled nothing but a set of numbers. She didn't hesitate to punch them into her phone.

 _I got your gift._ Tifa texted, holding her breath.

Her heart leapt into her throat when no reply came immediately, but then a picture loaded to the conversation. It was her. In Rufus' coat. That looked like the photoshoot from a couple months ago.

 _I don't think I could recreate that without help._ Tifa replied. Did she dare invite Rufus to be that help? She wanted to, but with a pounding head, and bruises already forming in strategic areas she wasn't sure he'd want what she had to offer even once she was medically cleared.

Silence.

The whirlwind of interviews and aftercare for her injuries, as well as navigating all the careful texts from her friends who tried to make her feel better about her performance, had her distracted to the point where when her manager led her to the van that would take her home she didn't think twice until he didn't climb in after her. Legs crossed, looking out the heavily tinted windows as if he were bored with the entire event, Rufus Shinra turned towards Tifa only once the van's door was fully shut. Her nerves were buzzing so hard she wondered if her ears were ringing.

"My condolences on your loss." Rufus clearly didn't know what to say, but it was well intentioned, so Tifa smiled back at him anyway. "I'm informed you're to spend the evening in the company of others."

Tifa hoped that this was the only part of consent he was rather shit at, but then was reminded of how she could beat him up if he tried anything she didn't like. "I suppose. You volunteering?"

Her ice prince inclined his head regally in her direction, causing her to snort. She regretted doing that as some body bruises made themselves known from her sudden movement. Feeling like there was nothing else to lose tonight, Tifa slid a hand over and intertwined their fingers. While Rufus didn't look at her, she felt his hand tighten around hers firmly. Relieved that she wasn't reading the situation wrong, Tifa relaxed into the plush heated leather seat.

"I'll be fine. I've come back from worse." She pulled his hand over and kissed the back of it. "But thanks for worrying, Rufus."

His eyebrows rose as he finally really concentrated on her, and before he composed himself she saw desire there that was primed to consume her. Maybe the man that wanted for nothing had found something he wanted to pursue. Tifa was flattered and pleased, but wary.

"I figure we're on a first name basis starting, oh, now."

"As you wish, Tifa." Her name had never sounded so good to her as when it dropped from his lips.


End file.
